[ Riku typically has more sense than to wander off, least of all beyond the known paths of Beacon. Nevertheless, he's out here, torchless and alone, chasing the imagined shadow of something personal enough to throw that tempered caution to the wind.
Distance and speed have Riku vanishing from sight with little more than the occasional call to guide Bruce. When only one of them can see what he pursues, there's no immediate sign to indicate why Riku has stopped when at last the dim gleam of his lantern and the pale halo of his silver hair emerge in a clearing.
The frost has his breath gusting from him in a visible plume, has pebbled his skin all up his arms; he'll cool faster now that he's stopped, now that his desperate sprint through the woods has warmed him enough to sweat.
Unmoved by the cold, Riku's right hand reaches slowly out to touch the empty space. The tilt to his head suggests that whatever he's looking at is a good head shorter than him, his reach not far, like he stands close enough to suggest familiarity.
Then something knocks him onto his back, making his breath fly from his lungs in a surprised rush. Sitting up, he fires off: ]
Hey! What's the big idea?
[ He sees the other boy turn away and that doesn't seem right. No matter what happened, Sora wasn't the type who turned his back on his friends. Riku, who had done so much to wrong him and everyone else they knew, intimately understood how forgiving, how kind Sora was.
If ever his friends saw Sora's back, he was defending them.
His eyes search the dark, trying to understand, hanging on the silence in the wake of his outburst like he's looking for what to say.
And then he senses it, a (familiar) equilibrium of light and shadow, but it's more the presence that registers and Riku turns his head around sharply. ]
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Distance and speed have Riku vanishing from sight with little more than the occasional call to guide Bruce. When only one of them can see what he pursues, there's no immediate sign to indicate why Riku has stopped when at last the dim gleam of his lantern and the pale halo of his silver hair emerge in a clearing.
The frost has his breath gusting from him in a visible plume, has pebbled his skin all up his arms; he'll cool faster now that he's stopped, now that his desperate sprint through the woods has warmed him enough to sweat.
Unmoved by the cold, Riku's right hand reaches slowly out to touch the empty space. The tilt to his head suggests that whatever he's looking at is a good head shorter than him, his reach not far, like he stands close enough to suggest familiarity.
Then something knocks him onto his back, making his breath fly from his lungs in a surprised rush. Sitting up, he fires off: ]
Hey! What's the big idea?
[ He sees the other boy turn away and that doesn't seem right. No matter what happened, Sora wasn't the type who turned his back on his friends. Riku, who had done so much to wrong him and everyone else they knew, intimately understood how forgiving, how kind Sora was.
If ever his friends saw Sora's back, he was defending them.
His eyes search the dark, trying to understand, hanging on the silence in the wake of his outburst like he's looking for what to say.
And then he senses it, a (familiar) equilibrium of light and shadow, but it's more the presence that registers and Riku turns his head around sharply. ]
Who's there?